(no subject)
We'll die alone, with broken collarbones and bleeding hands, twisting us into an even more disfigured wincing mess than we were the week before. But fuck it. We take it one breath at a time. Sam screamed it best every night: "Moments will make us." So let's take the ride.
Let's just go outside and break bottles, reveling in that beautiful snap of glass shattering all around us. Dancing around in a rainstorm of shiny crystals flying through the air, cutting shins and feet and fingers and arms. Singing "fuck love" and "fuck life" at the top of our lungs, letting the bitterness drive us home, or wherever it wants to take us.
We're all stuffed into the backseat, reckless and thinking we have any say in where we're headed. But in the end, do we really give a fuck? For the wolves inside all of us, it's the trip and not the destination. Screaming at pedestrians, showing our teeth to the wind, clawing at the upholstery and finding love notes and loose change. Wherever we stop, it's too soon and it's not where we wanted to be, but it'll do for now.
We crawl out of those cars alone every night. Even if we're not, we are. Looking into oblivion and trying to hold onto whatever keeps the cold and rational thoughts away. We just want kisses from nuns or witches that will heal our bones and make us strong, full of hell and humming devilish songs. We just want someone else to make us feel all of the things we can't feel alone.
Sunrise comes, heaven opening up it's little wrists for us to suckle and be reborn every morning. Peeling our eyelids apart in a makeshift bed, all our worldly possessions strewn around the room, music in the air swirling to an epic and pulse-ending cacophony. All of our friends, in their own little worlds, united in looking to the sun, smiling, and welcoming the hell to come.
Another day with our suitcases on the side of the road. Clothes melting in the rain. Tears washed away before they reach the cheek. Sly smiles from ear to ear. One last kiss that ends just as our lips brush each other. It never last long enough anyway. We put our thumbs in the air, our ride will be here soon.
Anywhere but Florida.
Let's just go outside and break bottles, reveling in that beautiful snap of glass shattering all around us. Dancing around in a rainstorm of shiny crystals flying through the air, cutting shins and feet and fingers and arms. Singing "fuck love" and "fuck life" at the top of our lungs, letting the bitterness drive us home, or wherever it wants to take us.
We're all stuffed into the backseat, reckless and thinking we have any say in where we're headed. But in the end, do we really give a fuck? For the wolves inside all of us, it's the trip and not the destination. Screaming at pedestrians, showing our teeth to the wind, clawing at the upholstery and finding love notes and loose change. Wherever we stop, it's too soon and it's not where we wanted to be, but it'll do for now.
We crawl out of those cars alone every night. Even if we're not, we are. Looking into oblivion and trying to hold onto whatever keeps the cold and rational thoughts away. We just want kisses from nuns or witches that will heal our bones and make us strong, full of hell and humming devilish songs. We just want someone else to make us feel all of the things we can't feel alone.
Sunrise comes, heaven opening up it's little wrists for us to suckle and be reborn every morning. Peeling our eyelids apart in a makeshift bed, all our worldly possessions strewn around the room, music in the air swirling to an epic and pulse-ending cacophony. All of our friends, in their own little worlds, united in looking to the sun, smiling, and welcoming the hell to come.
Another day with our suitcases on the side of the road. Clothes melting in the rain. Tears washed away before they reach the cheek. Sly smiles from ear to ear. One last kiss that ends just as our lips brush each other. It never last long enough anyway. We put our thumbs in the air, our ride will be here soon.
Anywhere but Florida.